Loose Ends
by Mad Childe Dru
Summary: Another perspective set after The Gift. Rated R for later chapters.
1. Prologue

Spike sat motionless in the arm chair. Staring, unseeingly, at the tiles on the floor. If he noticed me enter, he gave no sign. I pause by the counter to study him. It's been a long time since William and I have been in the same room without exchanging blows. Too long. Funny that this is what it took.   
Everything I've been through. The demons I've faced- metaphorical and literal. The friends I've gained and the ones I've lost... funny that her death is what it took. I grimace.  
Funny in that "slit you open and make window decorations out of your intestines kind of way." Yeah... real funny.  
He finally turns to face me and I almost start when I hear him speak.  
"I know I'm a good lookin' bloke an' all, but I'd appreciate it if you stopped bloody starin', came over here, and sat your fat arse down so we can talk."  
"Nice to see that 121 years hasn't taught you any manners. I mean, it's good to know that some things never change."  
He gives me a humorless smile while flipping me off. Yep, it's great to be family.  
"So, _William_," ooh... if looks could stake, "What'd you want to talk about?"  
"Well, _Angelus_," bastard," There's the littler matter of Buffy." I lean back and study him again before speaking,  
"Not that we don't appreciate the help and all, but why do you even care?"  
"We?" Ok, that was contempt... "We who, dad?" More contempt, "Far as I can remember, you left a couple years back. Since then, I've been a member of that "We" and you've been prancin' around Los Angeles."  
Alright, that was just a low blow.  
"Are you saying that this is my fault?" I question icily.  
For half a second it looks like he's going to respond, but then his expression changes and he drops his head into his hands. This is a different Spike than I've ever seen and there's nothing but defeat in his voice when he looks up with weary eyes and replies, "Look Angel, I just want to get her back."  
I decide I'm definitely gonna start calling Willow for more regular updates from now on. I lay my hand on his shoulder.  
"We will find a way, Spike. I promise."  
He nods before looking away.  
"So, how long have you been in lover with her?"  
He shoots me another "I wish I could fit you in an ashtray" look. Bingo.  
"Are you bloody daft? Who said anything about me-"  
"Spike..." I cut him off.  
You gotta love loud, audible, weight-of-the-world, _I really don't want to tell you a damn thing_ sighs.  
"Since before soldier-boy left," he grinds out.  
"Riley's gone?"  
"Mmm-hmm."  
"Good."  
His eyes get round and he stares at me a second before a grin splits his face, "Could it be? We actually agree on something?"  
I grin back, "Perish the thought."  
That's when we're interrupted. Willow comes back in the room, Wesley trailing behind her,   
"Spike... didn't you mention something about Darla coming back from the dead?" she questions, half listening for the answer, while the other half is engrossed in the book she's sifting through.   
Suddenly it clicks and Spike and I stare at each other.   
"Darla..." he begins.  
"Wolfram and Hart..." I finish. We both grab for our jackets. Time to go to work.  
  


TBC


	2. Chapter 1

I'm staring at him now... gazing in wonder at this golden man-child that I helped to create. I try to find some sense of myself in him as we glide down the rain-slicked streets towards our destination... some imprint of things I've taught him in this not-quite-grown, yet oh-so-street wise boy that's barely a foot to my right. Through hooded eyes and shifty glances I drink in his image.

Could he possibly hold the strength to love her? I know what it takes to be consumed by her- mind, body, heart... and a smirk tugs at the corners of my lips upon considering the addition of the word soul to that equation.

Again I examine him as the we coast up to a stoplight- The treads of the tires catch uneasily on the patent leather streets... but he's not concerned with the physical world. I can see in his head... a meticulous examination of Buffy's final moments playing on a rusted reel in his mind.

He thinks no one can tell... no one knows the dark, confined caves of consciousness he dwells in. But I see it... I see it in those hollow, haunted eyes of his. That's one thing my boy could never hide. Ask him a question and a lie rolls off his sugared tongue like sweet molasses . Ask him a thousand questions and a thousand sweet nothings and velvety deceptions you shall receive. But look in his eyes... truly... search his eyes. You'll see through those windows- the truth of my boy's soul.

And then there's that word again. Out of the corner of my eye I see him absently palm his lighter. The glow of passing streetlamps causes the surface to glisten as it rolls over and over in his hand.

The lights dance off his dark eyes and shadow the sharp planes of his face- his brow knitted in thought, blunt teeth roughly worrying his bottom lip... and his fingers running with assurance over the familiar feel of an old friend.

He's every ounce the bad ass image he so desperately tries to display. At this instant, in this minute moment in time... a mere grain in the vast hourglass of our never-ending lives... he _is _James Dean, Billy Idol, Sid Vicious, and all the other bad boys he's emulated over the years.

So with all his power and glory... I'm drowning in the same questions as always... is there anything of me left in him? Could he possibly possess the heart it takes to worship the miracle that is Buffy Summers?

My gaze sweeps over his troubled brow and steeled features once more... stuck in his own morbid retrospection... there may not be any of the ancient lessons I taught him tumbling their way through that haloed head, but most certainly his love for our slayer has sculpted him to be more like me in all my souled glory than he ever managed to be Angelus whilst my favoured childe.

Perhaps no one Buffy loves will ever be seen as worthy of her in my eyes... but in this moment, this short distance away... by this light... I'll be damned if William isn't one hell of a candidate.

William with his delicate heart and gossamer words. Will with his anxious spirit, so eager to please. Spike, with his mistrustful eyes and guarded heart.

The favoured childe of the Scourge of Europe... perfect for the Slayer of Vampires...

A sigh escapes my lips in frustration. Sweet irony was never so bitter as the conundrum that is Buffy Summers. I left her so long ago to give her a happy life... with a monster I helped to create.

Pulling the weathered convertible to a curb about a block away from Wolfram & Hart, I turn to face my boy again, only to find him already watching me. I pause a beat and then...

"What?" That annoyingly cocky smirk slides into place and he continues to stare silently. "What!?" He holds his peace, ever-present grin widening, if possible, and just at the point I think I may stake him myself of pure exasperation,

"Keep broodin' at the rate you are and you'll start showin' signs of male patt'rn baldness..." I gawk at him... this came from... _where_? "Just thought I'd mention, mate, 'cause it seems like you're startin' to thin out in the back a bit..." he continues as he slips a pack of cigarettes out from some God forsaken place of his duster, "And if the front keeps receding that caveman brow of yours is gonna go from _'sexy'" _complete with air quotes. Gee, aren't I the lucky one, "to... well..." he shrugs in mock defeat, "Well, I s'pose I should leave y'ta your own devices."

Popping a now lit cigarette between his lips, he leapt over the passenger side door and leaned against the car, casually taking a drag.

Opening my door with one hand, the other manages to find it's way to my scalp.

"You know, Spike, I think people would like you _a lot _better," I come around the front of the car to lean against the passenger side next to him, "if you just shut that mouth of yours..." he gives me _that_ look while I pause a beat, staring at him, "...nah... wouldn't help," I smirk.

"Hardy har har, da," he flicks his cigarette to the ground and toes out the butt with his Doc, "So... how we workin' this? Covert op, or just storm the castle like?" He asks anxiously, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. I eye the office complex looming over the buildings surrounding it, "It's not that easy, Spike."

He shoots me another look that is uniquely Spike and now I'm transported back a hundred and twenty years to a mineshaft and one of the first of many hateful glances exchanged, but I'm pulled from my reverie,

"...really, Angelus, sometimes you need to just say, 'Bugger all!' and charge up the bloody hill!"

"Spike! It... it's not that easy... look, most of Wolfram & Hart's employees are human, which is a problem for both of us-"

"Not for you! Ju-" I hold up a hand, cutting off his protests, "It's a problem for _both_ of us."

He's pouting when he speaks again, "Fine then, we'll have to settle for sneaking in without a ruckus." He's pushing off the car, ignoring my protests, and heading straight towards the proverbial lion's den. I jog to catch up and then stop directly in front of him. Insert huge mental sigh here. Just as I remember- the only way to get my head-strong childe's attention is by force.

"No," I place a hand on his shoulder and effectively steer him back towards the car, " I told you, it's _not that simple_." He shoots me yet another irritated glare and I begin to wonder just hot much disdain this boy has in him.

"They have some sort of force field or sensors... or... _something_ that alerts them whenever vampires enter the premises. You just gallop on into that building and it won't be more than three seconds before security's all over your ass."

His shoulders are visibly slumping and now I want nothing more than to throw my arm over them and tell Will that it'll be alright and we'll get her back, but eyeing the Goliath that stands between us and her, I'm not so sure. Since William was never one for empty promises, I settle for silence.

Spike runs a delicate hand through his tousled curls,

"Alright... let's review... these... these Perry Mason gits represent most of the well-off demon community in Los Angeles-"

"The country... hell, probably the world." He flashes a stiff smile, "Right. So it's unusual that a well-off vampire, from... say... England, would walk into their little love nest, how?"

I pause... how the hell did that slip my mind... "Well, uh... good point... but, there's still a few kinks if we go that route." My errant childe heaves frustrated sigh as he drops back to lean against the car again, "What now, Pops?" Ok, no need for witty comebacks, I'll just glare, "You," I survey his appearance, "Do _not_ look like you could afford them-"

"I'm William the effin' Bloody!" Great... another patented Spike-rant, "Doesn't reputation could for anything anymore!?"  
"Spike! _Spike_!"

"What?"

"Shut. Up." I've got a death grip on his shoulder and if my teeth were clenched any tighter they'd crack from the pressure, "You're drawing attention to us..." My grip on him loosens... slightly, "... they'll know we're here before we even get inside." He angrily shakes my grasp off, "_Fine_." And then suddenly, the mother of all grins splits his face... a grin that strikes fear into the heart of Lucifer, "Besides, I got an idea." I don't think I'm gonna like this... "Know of any near-by dry cleaners we can knick a couple good suits from, poof?" I know I'm not gonna like this.


End file.
